


i'll take you to my grave

by scarsimp



Series: salvation [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blood and Injury, But Not Quite because he wasn't All The Way deaed, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Greedling - Freeform, Human Transmutation, M/M, Swearing, and loses his own arm in payment for basically Almost Committing The Tabboo, and winds up creating a new gluttony instead on accident, greedling is still just, i've spent many hours plotting all of this you'll see, instead of lust his bro attempts to save scar, this is a partial swap au, this is an au where the other homunculi don't wholly exist, where roy tries to bring hughes back, why hughes would be gluttony? i will explain eventually, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24768805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarsimp/pseuds/scarsimp
Summary: The air in his lungs burned with his next inhale, and pain ricocheted up his arms as they gave out. Someone was screaming and as he choked on the liquid copper flooding his mouth and felt something give torturously inside of him he thought it sounded almost like Maes, before he was consumed wholly and thought of nothing more beyond white all encompassing.Roy Mustang tries to bring Maes Hughes back to life; it sets off a chain reaction.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Ling Yao, Jean Havoc & Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes/Roy Mustang, Miles/Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist), Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang
Series: salvation [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871155
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	1. a feeling akin to drowning

**Author's Note:**

> wooooo this thing is gonna be LONG anyway as the tags say: envy and gluttony don't exist in this universe, which means Amestris willingly started the ishvalan war which imo makes sense anyway because Amestris is first and foremost a militaristic and aggressive state,,, roy doesn't go blind for two reasons: it's overused imo, and because he went blind when being forced through the gate with no intention of reviving someone. if he tried to actually transmute someone he'd lose his eyes as a whole (like that poor butler), but i went with a more literal thing,,, he can't stomach a world without Maes, so he lost some of his digestive track

It was a broad thing, taking up the large space Roy had cleared in his living room by shoving his ragged couch and worn chairs roughly against the wall. He had drawn and redrawn it as many times as his aching wrists and worn down chalk would allow. His hands seemed to tremble _ just so _ in a way that rose up in the back of his throat, a hissing voice whispering that one misstep would be the last step he would take. The paranoia burned like acid and he eyed his hastily closed curtains with a weary gaze, before moving to double check the lock and busying his hands as best he could.    


Roy knew no one would find him, knew no one could find him even if he wanted them to. They had no idea what he had been planning and he intended to keep it that way- whatever happened, he would keep his mouth shut about it if it worked and force himself to move on if it didn’t. He  _ had  _ to move on if it didn’t. This was the last piece of hope he was holding onto and if it failed then the alternative to getting over it was much darker than he wanted to dwell on.    
  
He just hoped the price was something subtle. 

Roy rested his forehead against the unyielding wood of his apartment door, closing his eyes for a moment and humming quietly. The pressure stung the thin skin of his face and he struggled to ignore it, trying to pretend it was Maes, or Riza. The cold, white wood was a mockery of their warm skin and he wished with some strange, starved part of his soul that this had never happened. That Maes had gone home early that day just like he had wanted, that he wasn’t buried six feet down in a graveyard of soldiers he hated; buried in a coffin too small to contain his bones. 

Most of all Roy just wished he had his best friend and he hated himself for it. He hated himself for being angry at him, as if his rage could somehow turn back time and warn Maes that his doom was incoming. Hated himself because the man he loved was gone and all he could do was stand at his funeral and try not to cry. Hated himself for buying the ingredients every alchemist knew to avoid, the silver pan mocking in the light as it sat innocently on his floor. His auntie had always told him he could never just let the dead lie, and here he was taking it to the next level possible. 

He closed his eyes again, hissing a breath through his nose before exhaling and steeling himself. He forced his unruly stomach to quiet and made himself stand straight up, just like the soldier he supposedly was. He felt more like a child playing dress up as he carefully moved to the massive transmutation circle- big enough for a human, for a man, for Maes. His knees barely made a sound as they hit the ground, hyper aware of the thin chalk and how easy it was to smudge. His hands felt as if they were shaking when he held them out, but when he glanced down they were unnaturally still. 

It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, and for a split second he felt eyes piercing into his very being before his hands hit the ground and alchemy lit the room up in the vivid blue of false life. The air in his lungs  _ burned _ with his next inhale, and pain ricocheted up his arms as they gave out. Someone was screaming and as he choked on the liquid copper flooding his mouth and felt something  _ give _ torturously inside of him he thought it sounded almost like Maes, before he was consumed wholly and thought of nothing more beyond white all encompassing. 

*****

Waking up was a slow process. It felt like he was submerged in mud, sticky on his eyes and limbs and weighing his consciousness down into the deep. He could remember doing something, something he swore was important, and he struggled to lift his head until the meager strength he had built up dissipated in a red, blinding slash of agony. He choked on a strangled sob, his hands scrabbling weakly at the sticky ground before the vivid pain faded just as quickly as it had begun, leaving him laying graceless, wetly gasping for whatever air he could manage. 

His heart was pounding rapidly in his skull, his sternum aching dully beneath the pressure as he hesitantly opened his eyes. It was as if his eyelashes were weighted, and as he squinted blearily at his ceiling he noticed in a numbed state of shock that he could still see. He wasn’t blind, and as he slowly came back to himself he realized all of his limbs were intact as well. Though he was positive he would’ve noticed before then if he was missing an arm, it was still a small piece of mercy in the storm of overstimulation haunting him. 

Roy shifted slightly, wincing with a hiss at the way his skull ached as he did so. He must’ve hit his head on the way down, he thought to himself, before quickly slamming his eyes back shut at the horrific nausea that hit him, followed quickly by a wave of dizziness so intense he was convinced he would faint again. Miraculously, he didn’t, and as he forcefully swallowed down the budding saliva and bile in his mouth he noticed that his clothes were wet. 

Braving more rapid movement, he shakily lifted a hand up to his face before freezing when he saw the red coating it.  _ Blood. _ Turning his head he was gradually filled with horror as he saw more and more blood fill his vision. It was as if it was everywhere, seeping into the floorboards and smelling of copper and- strangely enough, vomit. It was trailing from a source, he realized, and as he followed the trail to a far corner of his living room he jerked violently. Pain quickly bloomed in his stomach at the sudden movement, his body screaming at him as he lurched away from the  _ thing _ laying limply on the floor.

The thing that was supposed to be Maes Hughes.    
  
It wasn’t him. Roy knew in some tiny part of himself that even if he had succeeded it would have never been the person Roy knew him as. The same body and mind, perhaps, but the soul would be long gone and long dead. Long dead, just like the creature spread across the hardwood in a death throe. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, but he was sickeningly thankful he hadn’t been awake from the thing’s death.

It didn’t even look like Maes, staring at nothing with empty, half formed eyes and a broken jaw. Raggedly cracked ribs speared into the air from its tortured body, and as Roy stared for longer and longer, everything hit him at once, flooding into his mind as he stared with blind eyes. The transmutation circle, the lighting, the  _ pain _ beyond anything he had never comprehended before. He had seen the Truth itself and it had seen him. Even trying to think back on what it had said sent another burst of pain behind his eyes, the surreal white of the setting- the false purity. The too broad smile the thing had given him, tilting its head as if he was a particularly interesting puzzle it could solve. Roy had never felt more like prey than in that moment; a mouse against a mountain lion. 

Trying to move even further away, Roy choked at the agony clenching his stomach tight and coughed desperately, struggling to breath through a second bout of dizziness. He could only assume it was from blood loss, or brain damage. He didn’t know which one. He almost wished it was brain damage, because then he wouldn’t have to face the reality that Maes was dead and gone no matter how badly Roy wanted him back.

Not even just Roy. The way Gracia carried herself was wrought with both a maternal grace and suffocating grief, doting over her daughter as if someone was bound to run up and snatch her away. A wife without her partner and a daughter without her father, surviving the best they could with his pictures and the empty smiles they all gave his family.    
  
Roy knew, logically, that no one had any idea he had planned to do this. He had been meticulous, even overly paranoid at times, all too knowledgeable on how the state treated those who broke its laws.  _ No one _ knew what he was doing, he barely even knew what he was doing when he performed it. He still felt like he had disappointed everyone in a race he didn’t even realize he was losing.

Moving after the original bout of anguish that hit him was somehow easier than before, and as Roy achingly sat up he gasped faintly in slighted agony, breathing shallowly through his nose before flexing one of his hands. It was still sticky with cold and congealed blood, and Roy didn’t doubt that it would stay stained long after it was washed. 

The blood pools trained from both himself and the strange, dead creature and Roy frowned when he noticed the smell again. Copper, almost overpoweringly so, mixed in with stomach acid and making the living area almost intolerable to stay in. He was slowly connecting the dots in his head and he didn’t like the idea that was perhaps the most obvious possibility.    
  
Shifting his torso was painful, and as the stench made his head spin he closed his eyes and tried to keep quiet. Roy wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t crippled, not because Truth had spared him but because Truth had ripped something else out of him with its bare hands. There was something wrong inside of him now and it was something he would have to live with and suffer through. What else could it be? He had obviously gotten sick while unconscious and hadn’t asphyxiated out of sheer luck on his part, and nothing external was missing whatsoever. 

Attempting to rise to his knees only proved his point further, and as Roy gagged at the sudden taste of blood on his tongue; hunching over on himself and breathing shallowly as he forced his lungs to rise and fall, rise and fall. The throbbing in his body faded with each breath, and rising up became more than a faint idea the second time he tried it. He was semi-successful on the second attempt, and as he gasped for the breath he had somehow lost with that simple motion, struggling to tear his eyes from the horror he had created. He held his lungs tight for a split second before something inside of him  _ shifted _ , and finally said the first thing he had spoken and meant for almost a week:    
  
“I need a doctor.”


	2. hollowed out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably dehydration, or a low blood sugar. Either way it wouldn’t kill him if he stayed down for a bit longer. Roy was reluctant to eat at all, his stomach still unsettled and nauseated. He felt like he had already eaten, and he could only guess that it was because blood was leaking. With another, more dramatic sigh, he forced himself to relax. 
> 
> Talking to himself for the umpteenth time, he deflated, “Riza is going to kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u guess what exactly truth took? ill tell you if you get it right
> 
> as a hint: a lot of the symptoms hes experiencing are pretty common for things like gastritis or gastroparesis

He did not go to the doctor. 

Roy sighed at the state he was in, managing to stand on shaky knees. He assessed the gore spread across him home like it was a particularly troublesome puzzle. “You really did it now,” he quietly muttered to himself, closing his eyes and swallowing down a fresh wave of discomfort. “Pretty sure it took my stomach. Feels like it, at least.”

His choice to ignore the gnawing inside of him was likely to become a mistake, but Roy didn’t exactly have the time or strength to make the trek to the nearest emergency room. He didn’t trust himself to drive at all, for that matter. The base of his skull was bruised from where he had fallen, and even tensing the wrong way sent a harsh wave of pain through his system. He was standing, though; at the moment that was the most important thing. 

Somehow he had to make all of this disappear. 

Roy had no idea how he was going to clean up without someone noticing. Trash bags full of party materials were one thing to try and sneak into the dump, trash bags full of human bones and stained rags was another story entirely. He had heard of too many cases where a serial killer or murderer had been found out by the police going through their garbage, and didn’t want to be counted among them. Not only would he be arrested for human experimentation, but he’d be the laughing stock of HQ. 

It was ironic. He could almost hear Maes himself laughing at him, the noise soothing as he risked a glance at the thing he had attempted to pull a soul into. Cases with stupid killers were Maes’ least favorite; Roy had always found it morbid that Maes had ‘favorites’ in the first place, but he understood it was just a way to cope with the daily pressure. Roy himself couldn't say much either way; he made plenty of arson jokes on the regular.

Maes had actually once explained that the tension was incomparable, and the man hadn’t been head of investigation for no reason. He lived for the challenge, even if he hated the carnage it would leave behind. A certified adrenaline junky. 

“Look at me. You’d get a kick out of this,” he snorted, steadily ignoring the fact that he was technically speaking to a corpse. Just a way to cope, that was all. “Never let me live down being this stupid.” 

Talking might’ve been the only thing keeping him stable, he realized in a quiet part of his mind. If he focused on what he had to say he wouldn’t get caught up in the eyeless sockets that stared back at him; his every move was tracked as he struggled to his room, grabbing a years old duffel bag that had been collecting dust. Cliche, yes, but at least it wasn’t trash bags, and it would burn easier and with less drama than most plastics. After a second thought he grabbed a pair of old gloves as well.

Burning was his best choice, at that point. He had foolheartedly been hoping that it would work even though he knew all too well what the reality was. His mouth tasted like ash and iron and as he moved closer to the transmutation victim- it had to be a victim, looking at it made his stomach churn- all he could remember was the smell of burning meat and screams. What had he done?

Even if it had somehow worked, even if Maes’ soul was sucked back from beyond the veil, he’d be stuck in a sad reanimation of the human body. It was twisted in a grotesque fashion, and as Roy examined it further he forced himself into a professional mindset; he’d seen enough violence in the past, he can handle this. “I hope,” he muttered to himself, delicately prodding an overly fragile rib. 

They were splayed out from the thing’s bent torso, expanding from it like a decoration, ‘Or blooming like flowers.’ was another thought to cross his mind. What organs had formed were small and pale, the cells in them imploding at their own creation. It was a complete mockery of life. For another moment Roy was beyond grateful he hadn’t been awake for the majority of the aftermath. 

The rips were ragged and porous under his gloved finger, and he bit back a grimace as he forced himself to start cleaning. He worked slowly, all too aware that one wrong move could ruin what little momentum he had managed to gather. It was little progress, but it was a significant improvement to the literal bio-hazard he had made- Roy cursed himself for not finding a better place to do this in the first place. He could’ve driven far out, or found somewhere that he wasn’t actively living in.

The Elrics had used their house’s basement, as far as he could remember. Much evidence wasn’t left in the aftermath, Ed having taken matters into his own hands and burning the place to the ground, but there had been enough rubble to show where bones had burned alongside wood. 

Roy’s mind drifted after that thought, drifting as he mindlessly worked. How would the Elrics react if they found out what he had tried to do? Ed was liable to punch him, though he wouldn’t deny it would be deserved. He hated to admit that he had no idea how Al would respond, not knowing the younger alchemist near as well as he did the older. Probably disappointment. He hoped that they’d never find out, but with his luck combined with their knack for getting into things he knew it was a futile hope at the best. 

The silence was broken only by his occasional noise of exertion, falling out of breath much faster than normal. Sweat beaded at his brow and as he tried to stand straight to catch his breath he gasped instead, lightheadedness hitting him like a train. Roy grimaced, craning his head back as he waited for his heart to stop racing and the weakness in his knees to fade. It was one thing to faint, it was another entirely to faint into the remnants of a bloody mess. Roy had some standards, marginal as they were. 

Much like it had earlier, the spell passed after he took a moment to calm down, but it was quickly replaced by something new. Roy grunted, wincing at the sudden burning in his chest and tang of copper in his mouth. “Acid reflux,” he mused, deflating slightly. “Really can’t catch a break, huh?” 

The room didn’t answer, still just as silent as it was when he came to the first time, if not much more barren with the majority of the decay stored and ready to burn. Once he could figure out how to do it without pulling at whatever was ripped open inside of him he’d have to fix the furniture too. The smell was thankfully gone, though later he’d have to scrub at his floor boarding and buy a rug- it was stained ominously in places, and Roy doubted it would be coming up.

His chest still ached strangely, throbbing in time with his heart beat as if it was inflamed. His sternum was just as sore as it had been when he first woke up on the floor, too. At this point he was starting to wonder if he had somehow cracked it when he went down- or worse, truth had taken a piece of it. He didn’t truly believe the latter conclusion, his chest looking and feeling generally the same despite the pain, though the anxiety lingered in the back of his mind. If he went to a doctor, what would they even say? Would they know what he did the way the Elrics surely would? 

He’d just deal with it until he couldn’t. Painkillers weren’t worth losing his job, or being tossed into jail. It wasn’t like they could do much for internal injuries anyway, beyond bed rest and opiates. Roy would heal eventually or he wouldn’t, simple as that. “Just need some time, maybe I can take a few days off. Say I caught the flu or something.” He mused aloud, trying to distract himself. He was just about as done as he could be beyond getting to his knees with old towels, and though he felt decent enough, he also felt exhausted beyond words. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, it seemed. 

That is, he felt decent enough until he had the dumbass idea to try and lift the duffel bag.

Roy managed to lift it halfway off the ground before he dropped it with a sharp cry and gasped, hunching over, legs dangerously weak and hands trembling as he clutched at his chest. Every thin breath he managed was fire in his veins, cycling back to the gnawing cavern his stomach had become; it felt like hellfire was inside of him, and he groaned when he felt his heart palpitate. He shivered in an all too sudden cold sweat and mentally kicked himself. He should have risked going out to the doctors; it was like there was something within of him biting away at his insides. 

Trying to straighten his torso only made it worse, and he choked on saliva pooling in his mouth as he leaned against the wall, sliding down it and hunching into his knees. Maybe the opiates were something he needed after all. He managed that half thought before he descended into wracking coughs again, squeezing his eyes shut when the room span.

Roy felt like he was on a ship, the floor rocking underneath him as the walls seemed to shrink and spin around faster and faster; he squeezed his eyes shut tighter and almost prayed before he remembered who did this to him. His heart wrapped against the cage of his rips and he wondered if it was on fire, before acid was on his tongue and he lurched to the side. 

He shook as he heaved, the pain only being exacerbated until his stomach stopped rolling and the burning ebbed away. He was panting desperately after the nauseating way the world shook blessedly slowed, and daringly opening his eyes before something in him froze. 

All he could see was blood.

Roy raised a shaky hand to his head, wide eyed and suddenly, viscerally afraid. He had assumed the bleeding stopped, that he hadn’t truly been bleeding in the first place, that the blood was from the creature he made, anything but what he was looking at. It looked like so much, and whatever denial he had been pushing to the front of his mind fell apart in seconds. Nothing quite like gore to concrete something in your mind. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, taking a wet breath before wincing when his stomach twisted again. 

“I have to clean this up too.” He said weakly. Roy was grasping at the barest sense of normalcy he could and he knew it all too well, but that didn’t mean he would stop. It was either this or breaking into the cabinet where he keeps all of his red wine and he seriously doubted he could stomach alcohol at this point. He was almost tempted to try until he remembered alcohol was a blood thinner; he didn’t need to lose anymore than he already had. That didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed, though. 

This might be what Maes meant when he complained that Roy drank too much. 

He smiled bitterly at the thought, before groaning out loud and hanging his head between his legs. His mouth was dry and he felt like he had been sucking on cenz for an hour. He had to finish cleaning, he had to clean up his new mess, he had to call into work. There was so much he had to do- he had scarcely done anything and still felt miserable. Part of him understood why- he was missing whatever the fuck that thing had wanted, but that did little to stem the panic he felt over it. He already procrastinated enough, it’d take months to catch up on the paperwork if he stayed out too long.   
He also had to come up with a reason for staying out of the office today unannounced. It was, frankly, a miracle that Riza hadn’t already let herself in with the spare key to make sure he hadn’t died in his sleep or whatever. She would probably stop by later in the evening, if it was evening. He didn’t know how long he had been hurting and he couldn’t be damned to move at the moment. His everything ached in some way. It was like his eyelashes stung, and his head was still throbbing- it had only been getting worse after he had vomited. 

Probably dehydration, or a low blood sugar. Either way it wouldn’t kill him if he stayed down for a bit longer. Roy was reluctant to eat at all, his stomach still unsettled and nauseated. He felt like he had already eaten, and he could only guess that it was because blood was leaking. With another, more dramatic sigh, he forced himself to relax. 

Talking to himself for the umpteenth time, he deflated, “Riza is going to kill me.”


	3. friends on the other side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The key Roy had given her when they first moved to Eastern shook on its chain when she grabbed it, the metal glinting like a knife for a split second before shining dully with the ever darkening sky. She moved to unlock the door in a practiced movement, and it creaked ominously as she opened it. Almost like a warning.
> 
> Riza hated when she was right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry i died health issues are bitches and when i see them its ON SIGHT

When Roy didn’t show up for work Riza had assumed he had merely overslept for the first hour, and as the second rolled on she began to wonder when he would call in sick- or claiming he had another “date.” The worry only truly began to set in after lunch, when there was still radio silence and no one in the office had heard anything from the alchemist.    
  
_ Was he hurt? Did someone break in? _ The questions mulled around Riza’s head as she walked down the street, eyeing his apartment building with trepidation. Something about it was ominous in the twilight, her gut screaming at her in a fit of anxiety that seemingly came from nowhere. Whatever caused his absence from her day, Riza knew with certainty that he hadn’t simply taken an afternoon from work. 

The shadow over her only thickened the closer she got to his apartment, eyes almost scattering across the halls and Riza swore that someone was watching her. His door sat inconspicuously in the concrete hall, white wood cheery against the twilight of the rest of the world. She took a breath, shook her head and cleared her mind. Nothing was here, nothing was wrong-  _ hopefully  _ \- and nothing would happen to her when she opened the door beyond Roy maybe getting uppity. 

That last thought made her smile again as her heart slowed, Roy was always blustering on about personal space and independence and yet insisted on her going on walks with him, or letting Hughes get away with chattering on the phone for a ridiculous amount of time. The uplift she had managed to give herself quickly faded away at the thought of Hughes, and she frowned.   
  
There was an ever present hollowness in her chest whenever she thought too hard about the past month and what it’s meant for everyone. Officers seemed colder, more disconnected from the people around them,  _ Roy _ was more disconnected from everyone around him. There was a fresh, bleeding look in his eyes that she didn’t like- it was the same look Ed had the first day she met him. Something dark and fiery, daring God themselves to stop him from taking what he lost back. It bespoke of bad, cruel things and Riza prayed she was wrong when she spent too long dwelling on it.    
  
The key Roy had given her when they first moved to Eastern shook on its chain when she grabbed it, the metal glinting like a knife for a split second before shining dully with the ever darkening sky. She moved to unlock the door in a practiced movement, and it creaked ominously as she opened it. Almost like a warning.    
  
Riza hated when she was right. 

*********

Roy came back to himself with a gasp, jerking and raggedly pulling his head up from his knees. His back was screaming in protest from how he was resting- curled up on the floor, pressed against the wall for support- and his head was still throbbing just as angrily as it had been when he had fallen asleep. He blearily rubbed his eyes, frowning at how weak his arms felt, before realizing what had woken him up to begin with.    
  
The door knob was rattling something fierce, and as Roy startled and began to push himself to his unsteady feet, it opened. It took Riza-  _ because who else would it ever be _ \- scarcely a moment to let herself in and close the door, before she turned and saw him curled up against the wall. It took her even less time to move over to him, eyes wide and revealing more fear than she would ever want.   
  
A steady, callused hand rose to touch his chin, and Roy squinted faintly at her before she moved back and his gaze fell to the flaky red smeared across her fingertips. She opened her mouth as if to ask something, face slowly paler as she turned slightly to look around and undoubtedly noticed the bloodstains and residue. He didn’t know what he could say, throat thickening as he flitted through a million useless responses. 

_ ‘I had to; I can’t do it; I had to try; I had-’ _ none of them would excuse blood staining his lips and coating his stomach. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when she closed her eyes for a moment and shut her mouth, instead moving closer to him.Everything seemed to happen in a blur after that, her hands firm on his bicep and leading him to his bedroom without so much as a word spoken. Roy didn’t know how she  _ knew _ but she did, she always did.    
  
*****

Roy stared blankly at the ceiling, breathing quietly in the solitude of his room. Riza had moved into the kitchen to make tea, leaving with firm instructions to 'yell if you need _ anything _ , sir.' It stung a bit, feeling like he needed to be babysat, even if it was likely necessary. 

The ceiling was popcorned and white, and as he struggled to focus on it it was like everything was finally coming into focus. Like he was blind but could finally see. 

Maes Hughes was dead and gone, Roy Mustang was alive and crippled. There was a lingering feeling of wrong that had settled over him after last night. A new ache in his torso, a feeling like something was ripped and stitched back together incorrectly. He hadn't tried to eat since before the incident, as he had taken to calling it in the privacy of his mind, but he had a feeling the tea Riza was bringing back wouldn't sit well. 

Something was missing from himself and he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. Every move he made was uncomfortable, something not quite painful but agonizing all the same. It was he was upside down, the blood boiling in his stomach and his chest and spreading like a quiet fire. He wondered vaguely if this was what finally killed him, some strange fire of his own unintentional making- an irony. 

He was hungry but he couldn’t feel the hunger. It showed itself in the weak tremble of his hand as he held it above his face, staring at the pale palm. It was wholly intact, nothing missing, nothing damaged. Roy realized with a quiet paling that he could’ve lost an arm, a leg, his sight; he could’ve ruined his entire life in a single blow with the laws he just broke, could’ve lost his  _ life. _

Still could lose his life, he corrected as he shifted with a wince. It was a gnawing ache now, under his sternum and flooding his lungs with each breath he took. It was impossible to get used to. He wanted to sit up and see if it would help but when he went to push up against the mattress his arms shook in violent protest and he was forced to recline back down. He was stuck and it was a terrible feeling.   
  
Roy sighed as frustration bubbled to the surface of his roiling mind, more glaring than analyzing the ceiling now. What was he  _ thinking _ ? That he could play God.Who was he? A fool who convinced himself he could bring a soul back from beyond the veil. All he got for it was a pitiful creature and a chasm where his body should lie. He knew and yet he did it anyway, as if somehow this time it would work, as if numberless people hadn’t tried in the past.    
  
He really was a fool.   
  
Shaking his head did little to banish the thoughts, and Roy turned his glare to his stomach now. It was innocuous, and as he shifted he winced again. “Dammit,” Roy grunted, moving to roll the body of his bloodstained shirt up. “What’s even going on-”    
  
His stomach was a mass of purple bruising and unnaturally hollowed skin now. Roy blind steadily at it, the world around him falling underwater. “.. What?” He murmured, before moving to press a still shaky hand over his navel. It pressed in nauseatingly, and Roy gagged before quickly jerking it away. The gentle weight of his hand had left behind an angrily whitened palm print, just as quickly turning pink. 

“My.. stomach?” It was a useless question, one Roy already knew the answer to. Something was missing, maybe his stomach or his liver or his kidneys, he didn’t know. All he knew was that they never gave without taking. “Equivalent exchange in all things,” he said numbly, staring at the red, stretched skin.    
  
“Sir?”   
  
His stupor was broken when he heard Riza’s quiet voice, and his head snapped up before he realized her eyes were trained on his stomach. He batted at his shucked up shirt halfheartedly, hoping she would leave it be. He still didn’t know what he could say to any question she asked. Maybe he could answer anyone else, but never  _ her _ . She knew him inside and out. “Lieutenant.” He said as put together as he could manage.    
  
Riza looked at him with sad eyes after he spoke, and something in Roy seemed to give out at that. He slumped his shoulders into the mattress, sending her an exasperated look. “Well, don’t just stand there.”   
  
She sighed, blinking down at the tea she held before moving to sit besides him on the bed. The mattress dipped warningly, and Riza set the cup on his nightstand before shifting to fully face him. “Do you need help sitting up, sir?”    
"Ah- if you wouldn't mind," he confessed, slightly embarrassed as she guided him into a sitting position and shoved the cup into his cold hands.  Riza stared at him for a moment, sight boring into his head. “What happened?” she finally asked, voice tired. Roy hated himself for that tone.    
  
“I think we both know.” He quietly admitted, ducking his head down to stare at the mug she had passed him. “I did something.. Stupid.” That was the nicest word he could use.

“I know that,” She stated, making him blink. “I mean what happened afterwards.”

_ Oh _ . “Oh,” He said eloquently, “I.. don’t remember everything.”   
  
“Tell me what you do remember.”   
  
He cast her a mildly annoyed glance, one that made her face soften imperceptibly. “Let me get there- I was unconscious for quite some time, and when I woke up I was surrounded by blood, amongst.. Other things.” He added on with a grimace, “I had created something.” Keeping it as short as possible was the best he could hope for, just thinking on it sent his stomach rolling again.    
  
“Something?” Riza pushed, voice guarded.    
  
“Something pitiful,” It hurt to admit it aloud. “The…  _ thing _ died before I woke up the first time,” Roy stated, staring impertinently at the amber tea. “I hate to admit it, but I’m glad it did. I don’t know what I might’ve done otherwise.” He looked over to her, and it was then that he noticed the concern etched into her face.    
  
“Did you burn it?” She asked, only making his curiosity rise further.   
  
“Burn it? I couldn’t have. We’re inside, and I couldn’t move too much. I just tried my best to, uh… ‘clean up’ with what I had,” He shuddered slightly, “It’s in the duffel bag by the door.”

Riza’s brow furrowed closer at that, “What duffel bag? Your living room was almost completely empty when I came in.” She stood quickly after speaking, hand falling to her belt as she turned towards his open bedroom door.    
  
“Empty..” Roy’s blood ran cold. “It couldn’t have been, I had no way of getting rid of it. No one came in.” He trusted himself to at least be aware of himself while asleep- sleeping too deeply was the easiest way to get yourself killed. 

“With all due respect, sir, you were heavily bleeding and likely concussed- you wouldn’t have noticed much.” He frowned at that, before she continued. “I’m going to check your living room for any signs of invasion.”    
  
“I don’t really think that’s necessary-”   
  
“I  _ do. _ ” She snapped back as she strode out, voice fading. “Your safety is my priority.”   
  
He stared awkwardly at the shade she left in the room, pursing his lips and attempting to distract himself by sipping at the now warm tea. He might’ve been a quarter of the way done with it when it finally started to thicken in his mouth, and he winced at the squeamish sensation. Swallowing did little to help it- he was starting to wonder if he would be sick again when Riza’s voice broke out from the living room.   
  
“Sir- signs of intrusion on the left side window, the one facing the alley. There’s blood on the windowsill, and black fibers.”   
  



	4. sand in my teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ehsaan, I need you to wake up for me- little brother, you can't sleep in today. We need to go and I need you to wake up, it's going to be okay. I have you, open your eyes—"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehsaan - scar  
> Aadil - scar's brother
> 
> This au means his brother never dies! So Scar is very much less,,, traumatized (not to downplay anything, just means his brother was there to pull him back from falling into a cesspool of suicidal murders) and also means brotherly shenanigans and bickering, can you guess where they are right now? Hint: not Ishval

_ Waking up was never an enjoyable experience, though this time something was wrong. When he had closed his eyes earlier all he knew was blood. It was running down his face and into his mouth- copper bitter on his tongue and making him choke as he struggled to breathe. At one point it had gotten up his nose, though he could feel a callused hand wiping at his face as he sputtered and coughed weakly. Everything hurt, his face, his chest, his arms- it was like a ring of hives had encircled his shoulder and numbed everything below the itchy, distracting pain.  _

_ The room was frigid compared to the searing heat of the outside, and as his eyes opened and he fully resurfaced all he could wonder was how he got there. He coughed faintly as he shifted on the cot he was laying on, freezing and snapping his eyes completely open when it sent a wave of nauseating pain through him. He sputtered faintly, gasping for breath as the pain led through his chest, and managed to turn his head with as much effort as he could manage.  _

_ That wasn’t his arm.  _

Ehsaan snapped awake with a rough noise, blinking up at the patchy ceiling and staring as his brain frantically tried to place where he was. It was his room- just his room, he eventually realized, relaxing marginally. The night terror left his skin prickling in the cold air, and he shivered faintly before taking a deep breath and sitting up. He must've shucked his blankets off while tossing in his sleep. A quick glance out the window showed the snow coating the ground like a blanket, a stark contrast to the desert in his dreams. 

He rolled his shoulder, before shaking his head and bending over to pick the wrinkled blankets up. It wouldn't do to start dwelling over the past‐ he couldn't change it and Ishvala knew he needed sleep. It was barely midnight from what he could tell, and his eyes were grainy from exhaustion. Sleep, hopefully, would be easy coming and he sighed with partial defeat as he laid back down, propping his head up on an arm and stretching the other far above his head. 

"I wonder if Aadil is still awake," he mused faintly, red eyes tracing over the tattoos lining his right arm. His brother had a horrible habit of staying up well into the night, pouring over tomes and research in the attempt to find  _ something _ . Ehsaan never could wrap his mind around it all, only understanding the chemistry and reluctant to think too hard on the rest of it. Endless circles and patterns that seemed to all blend in his mind, he could scarcely stand it. 

The Ishvalan's train of thought was interrupted by a heavy yawn, and he stretched and rolled onto his side before blinking heavily at the door. As his eyes closed he almost swore he saw something watching him from the shadows of the hall. 

*****   
  


_ He could hear his brother's voice but he could not see him, the world a disarray of dark black and blonde-hair-blue-eyes that followed his every movement. Aadil sounded frantic, his voice thick with emotion as he spoke rapidly from somewhere he couldn't reach.  _

_ "Ehsaan, I need you to wake up for me- little brother, you can't sleep in today. We need to go and I need you to wake up, it's going to be okay. I have you, open your eyes—" _

Ehsaan woke up for the second time with a small gasp, eyes snapping open before he realized his brother was looming over him. “Huh,” he managed, squinting up at him and raising an arm to scrub over his face tiredly. It proved to be a mistake when scar tissue stretched painfully, and he let his hand flop back onto the sheets with a small noise. Aadil looked increasingly amused as he laid there, and he rolled over to better look at him. “What is it?”   
  
“Thought it was about time you got up,” his brother joked lightly, before his face softened a bit. “You were tossing around, I figured you needed the help waking up.”

“Hm?” Ehsaan blinked slowly, still sluggish. “I didn’t realize, I can barely remember what I was dreaming of anyway.”    
  


Aadil cast him a doubtful glance, before shaking his head fondly and clasping his remaining hand on Ehsaan’s shoulder. “Joints giving you any trouble yet? I heard you moving around last night, you know you can come tell me when something’s bothering you, yeah?” It was rare for his brother to be so soft around the edges, and Ehsaan raised a brow.    
  
“I’m fine, I just kicked the blankets off myself in my sleep is all.” He reassured, before shifting and finally sitting up. His right arm complained with the movement, his elbow popping loudly while he frowned down at it and rolled his wrist a few times. “Well- maybe the cold is getting to me a bit.” His frown deepened when he glanced at the stump where his brother’s right arm used to be. “What about you? Anything aching? The doctor said we could-”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know what the doctor said,” Aadil rolled his eyes, swatting at his brother’s head with playfully broad gestures. “Stop trying to be protective, that’s my job.”   
  


Ehsaan stopped himself from sticking his tongue out in reply, “Well, it’s only fair I take care of you if you take care of me. Equivalent exchange and all that stuff you like to talk about.” he snorted at the aghast look on his older brother’s face.    
  
“You’re not supposed to use that against me! I thought you didn’t like talking about it, anyway.”   
  
It’s fine if I can use it against you.” Ehsaan actually did stick his tongue out, only to jerk back when Aadil made grabs for it.   
  
“Brat! You’re forgetting who’s in charge, here!” Aadil was laughing unabashedly, smiling and making small jabs at Ehsaan’s stomach with his hand.    
  
“What does that even mean? I’m twenty five!” 

“It means  _ I’m _ thirty, then!” Aadil finally managed to knock him over, ruffling his hair as much as he could before Ehsaan sat back up and playfully shoved him. 

It was several more moments before either of them deigned the other annoyed enough to leave alone, finally ending with Ehsaan laughing on his back and Aadil sitting up beside him, looking painfully fond as he caught his breath. They rested in silence for several moments, a relaxing silence. Not thick or insidious, it didn't make Ehsaan's skin crawl or chest burn with the fear that he had to  _ say something.  _ He could simply exist for a moment. 

"You know," Aadil finally broke the silence, looking wistfully out the window at the snow fling lazily. "Equivalent exchange, it's pretty crazy, isn't it?"

Ehsaan didn't respond for a moment, puzzling over the question. He didn't give much effort into thinking of alchemy- it made his skin crawl at times- even if it was used to save his life- though he was loath to mention it to his brother  _ now. _ Maybe before, but there was too much sewn between them now. "What makes you say that?" He asked, testing the boundaries with another question. 

"It's just… something I read, I guess." Aadil admitted with a small sigh, his expression turning stern. "Did you know people would try to bring humans back from the dead?" 

Ehsaan couldn't stop his shudder at that, curling his arms close and then frowning down at his right— was it really  _ his _ ? He didn't know. He didn't want to know, or talk about this. "Why would they try, it wouldn't work." He huffed lightly, sliding his eyes to the right in an attempt to avoid the gaze Aadil was leveling him with. 

"See, that's what I thought, too." Aadil said after a moment, voice weary. He moved, resting his hand on Ehsaan's forehead and rubbing his thumb over the thick scar crossing his brow. He was the only one Ehsaan let touch it, something he wasn't want to abuse. "You don't resent me for what happened, do you?" 

" _ What? _ " Ehsaan snapped, scrambling to sit up and fully face his brother. "Why would you say that— of course I don't! It wasn't even your fault that it happened, it was-" 

"Hey, hey-" Aadil smiled in exasperation, "Breathe, I didn't meant…  _ that. _ " What he meant went unsaid, though it lingered in their teeth and in the walls they were surrounded by. "I mean your arm. I know you don't like what I do, but-" 

"You just hush now!" Ehsaan was the one to interrupt now, glaring at his brother, who seemed surprised at the abrupt statement. "You saved my life! It doesn't matter what happened before that, you did what you thought was best. By Ishvala, Aadil, you gave up your arm for  _ me _ ! Why would I be upset by that?" 

His older brother seemed to deflate at that, looking sheepish as he rubbed the back of his head. "I guess when you put it like that, it does sound kinda dumb, doesn't it?" 

"You could say that." Ehsaan huffed, still aggrieved. "I would've died if you weren't there, brother. I almost did die anyway." His voice was even, but it did little to mask the blankness of his eyes whenever he thought back to what had happened. It made a chill run down Aadil's spine- what exactly had his little brother seen that day? 

"Trust me, I don't need the reminder." Aadil was the one averting his gaze, now. "It's okay though, now, yeah?" He asked, trying to lighten the mood. "No human transmutation, or crazy crop circles anywhere around here." He plastered a smile up, though it fell when Ehsaan stayed quiet, merely sitting quietly for a moment. 

Aadil watched the snow fall as he waited, assuming Ehsaan's mind had wandered for a moment. He did little to hide his shock at the sudden question Ehsaan blurted out.

"What would've happened? If it was transmutation, that is."

Aadil blinked, staring at him for a moment. Ehsaan seemed unperturbed by his own question, only seeming to be uncomfortable for a moment before making it and staring at him earnestly. He waited patiently as Aadil struggled to formulate an answer, merely raising an eyebrow when his brother waved his hand around a few times to gesture. 

"I mean- I really- why do you want to know?" Aadil finally managed to ask, weak. 

"It almost happened," Ehsaan admitted with a shrug. Would something different have happened if I was—" dead, bled out, it rang out in the air, thick in Aadil's lungs and aching at his shoulder. He wondered if Ehsaan's right arm ached when his own stump did. "You mentioned it first." Ehsaan added in, seeming to run out of steam.

"You're too curious for your own good, that's what's happening here." Aadil finally grunted, picking at stray stitching on his shirt. "Honestly, little brother?" When Ehsaan looked at him with little regret, he continued. "I really, truly don't know. I've heard stories of amestrians trying to bring the dead back and… losing things."

"Losing things?"Eshaan echoed. "Like.. how you lost your arm?" 

"No, that wasn't  _ lost."  _ Aadil pointed at his stump, then at Ehsaan's arm. "That was traded, big difference. When I say lost I mean… gone. As if it never existed. Organs, limbs, memories. Things just vanishing, like they were taken." 

Ehsaan wrapped his arms close around his stomach as he listened, hunching his shoulders. "Equivalent exchange." He murmured faintly. 

"Like what-?" 

He looked up, "Huh? Like equivalent exchange. Just like you said." 

Aadil furrowed his brow, "In exchange for  _ what _ , though?"

Ehsaan pursed his lips, "A soul, obviously. You can have a body, but you need something to control it with." He said, criticizing. "Ishvala gave us souls for a reason, brother." 

Said brother looked both amused and amazed. "I never even thought of that." He finally admitted. "I'm a little embarrassed, now. It's so obvious."

"That's why I'm here," Ehsaan snarked, "one of us needs to have a brain." 

"Oh, you're such a brat!" 

"Still twenty five." 

"And I'm still thirty!" Aadil snatched a pillow up off of the bed and tossed it at him, making him break out laughing as he sprawled back down with it. "Hey, give that back!"

"Nope. You threw it at me, it's mine now." Ehsaan's voice was smug as he used the pillow to prop his head up, before pointing an accusing finger at Aadil and continuing. "Besides, you never answered my question. What would've happened?"

Aadil seemed to sober up then, pressing his mouth in a thin line. "You really won't let it die, huh? Just as stubborn as a mule."

At his brother's condescending stare, he rolled his eyes. "Something bad, honestly." He finally admitted. "I don't know what, but something bad would've. Some of those texts mentioned  _ things  _ coming back that look like us, but aren't."

"Things?" Ehsaan echoed, cocking his head. "Like what sort?"

"They look human, but they're made with alchemy. Nothing I've read has really named them, but they're bad news." Aadil huffed, "Glad we never have to really find out, huh?"

He glanced to see his brother's reaction, and frowned. Ehsaan was silent as he contemplated, the scar thick across his brow doing little to reprieve him of the brooding look. After a small pause he furrowed his brow. "Would I have turned out like that? Are they cruel?"

"I honestly don't know, Ehsaan." Aadil's voice was an attempt at comfort, but it did little to sooth the younger ishvalan as he thought back on the past few days and what they had told him. He had passed it off as mere nightmares, but now he was having second thoughts. The same man, with dark hair and light skin, and a fanged smile. His eyes flew red in the dark and it felt like Ehsaan had become prey itself. 

"What do they look like, brother?" He finally asked, still staring quietly at the floor.

"It varies on the person, obviously, but generally they all have the same color scheme?" Aadil sounded vaguely questioning, but it couldn't be helped. "Red eyes like a demon, not like us. Dark hair, darker clothes, and pale skin. They look possessed." 

*****

_ When Ehsaan dreamed that night he dreamed of dark hair and red eyes, a thick tattoo and sharp nails. The world was dark and painful and everywhere he turned he saw the same people. Revived men and children, a woman. A tall, tall man with cold blonde hair.  _

_ The same man all over the news– thick hair and knives always between his fingers. Waking up never came soon enough.  _

__  
  



	5. i'm weak, my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It seems a ghost has introduced himself,” The man said, before everything turned white. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one is a bit short but there's only so much i can write about cooking dinner, roy centric chapter is next 
> 
> also,,, comments would be very appreciated! i'd like feedback so i know what everyone is liking so far

_ It was the same dream, over and over and over again. Every night the insidious malice would creep through his mind and poison his nights- the same woman, the same man, the same people. The blond man stood tall above the rest with a halo of light shrouding his face, his hair gleaming like gold in it. Overly vivid eyes broke through, pulsing red and sending a chill down Ehsaan’s spine.  _

_ A croaking noise, the sound of something breathing in broken gasps- wet and thick and mucusy. A death rattle. He could barely convince himself to turn his head and look. What he saw made him wish he was blind. _

_ It was something dead and alive at once, oozing skin throbbing with a too fast heartbeat and a gaping mouth revealing cracked teeth. Ribs splayed like a fan, shifting with each wheeze, while a broken spine did little to support the slowly fading creature. Ehsaan couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, watching morbidly as it shifted and fought to lift a single, too thin arm. Skin hung like rags from the bones and the hand trembled as it stared through him.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Its eyes were as green as poison.  _

*****

Ehsaan decided fairly quickly that he was never going to adjust to the cold, nor would he ever adjust as long as he lived. The north was freezing-  _ to put it kindly _ . It almost never stopped snowing, and as far as the eye could see the land was flat and white, only broken up by the small houses that made up their miniature town. The crisp crunch of snow beneath his boots did little to lighten his mood, and as he fought his way through the frigid air he wondered exactly why he hadn’t gone with his aunts to the Xerxes ruins, at least there the weather was something he was used to.    


His brother shouting from the side quickly reminded him. Ehsaan turned and watched with a certain degree of bemusement as his brother swore angrily at the wind, before turning to wave furiously at him again. “Hey! Someone’s here visiting!” Aadil called out, before grinning waspishly at his little brother. “Better hurry up before I start spilling all the times you were a dumb kid, huh?”

If Ehsaan’s idea of who it was proved correct, he assumed he would simply die from a heart attack if Aadil ever told him. It was a good motivator, and he scrambled to stomp his way up the stairs and into the house before his brother held true on his promise. He quickly closed the door, and the dry, warmer air inside made him jolt a little. Ehsaan scrubbed at his arms as he attempted to toe his boots off with as little movement as possible, fighting off the chatter of his teeth. He really, really hated snow. Fun to look at, horrible to live with.    


He could hear Aadil chattering on about something in the kitchen, and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He wanted to stay near the fireplace blasting in the main room but he truly didn’t trust his brother not to gush about whatever the hell he might’ve done in his teen years. 

Walking into the kitchen did little to warm him up, and he shivered faintly before grinning at the sight before him. A tall man leaned comfortably against one of the counters, seemingly familiar with their small home. His white, braided hair was pulled into a comfortable ponytail and he was listening with some faint amusement as Aadil chattered on while attempting to make tea- though Ehsaan frankly wouldn’t trust anything he cooked.

He made a small noise to alert them to his presence, and as their visitor turned to him with cheerful red eyes Ehsaan felt something in his chest loosen slightly.

  
“Well, hey there!” Miles greeted him with a broad, toothy smile. “I got you something I thought you might like- don’t worry, I already fought your brother off of it.”

  
Well, maybe the cold wasn’t  _ that _ bad. 

*****

Dinner was a quiet, but pleasant affair- Miles happily helped Ehsaan as he bustled around in the small kitchen. “Help” being that he would regularly swipe food from under Ehsaan’s nose whenever the opportunity opened itself. No amount of swatting dissuaded him, either.

Occasionally as he hovered over the stove, Ehsaan would hear his brother murmuring to himself from the sitting room. He glanced back once and caught him hunched over a thick book, single hand on his chin and glasses crooked as he glared down at whatever he was reading-  _ they needed to find him a better prescription soon _ \- and shuffling through the pages.

Miles’ hand burned in his own when he quietly slipped it under the table, twining their fingers together with a sheepish grin and a small shrug. “I missed you,’ Miles murmured quietly, leaning towards him a bit so Ehsaan could hear him better.

He felt something flutter in his stomach, and stifled a small smile as he squeezed Miles’ hand in return. Aadil was too caught up in his dinner to notice them both only eating with one hand, something Ehsaan was embarrassedly thankful for- he was rather certain his brother knew about them, but it was still something he’d rather not have to talk about to his  _ older brother _ .

*****

Ehsaan laid awake in bed long after Miles was forced to ride back to Briggs, tossing and turning around. Sleep was just out of reach, as it often was late at night- he vaguely regretted staying up so late. His mother always said it meant he was too tired to be tired. He thought of it more as karma for ruining his sleep schedule. 

It was almost blindingly dark that night, the moon a shallow curl of what she usually was and the stars blotted out by clouds and snow flurries. The inside of his mouth was dry, and his throat felt cold- the air was frigid in his lungs and it made his shoulder ache with the frenzy of his heartbeat    
  
Closing his eyes proved ineffective, and as he stared blankly at the wall across from his bed he wondered if this was what his brother felt like waiting for him to wake up. Like the world had frozen and all that was left was the thick drum of his body in the silence. Ehsaan knew he was waiting for something but he couldn’t tell  _ what _ , and that made it all the more miserable.

*****

_ The wind was cold against his face and as Ehsaan walked he wondered where he was going. There was thick, textured sand under his feet but when he looked down all he saw was thick, gray water and stone. The air was thick and as he choked on his next inhale he doubled over, coughing into his palm and wheezing. His chest burnt like a fire and the shadows surrounding him seemed to only get thicker and thicker the longer he stood in one place.  _

_ Moving was a struggle, but he eventually managed to scrape his feet along as he traversed the seemingly endless tunnel he heard muted voices trailing him. His tongue felt thick and bloody in his mouth- did he bite his cheek? His skin was crawling with bugs and the voices surrounding him only seemed to grow louder and louder. He couldn’t clear the shadows away from himself, no amount of searching for a light successful.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ The sand under his bare feet stung and Ehsaan panted a quiet breath, anxiety swelling in his stomach as he tried to speed up. It was no use, the passage stretching long above and below him- had he passed that pipe before? He could’ve sworn he was that stain on the wall earlier. Everything was blurring in his head and he choked as he finally seemed to find something different.  _

_ Pipes everywhere he could see, a huge vat filled to the brim with liquid gold- almost ambrosic, fat bubbles lifted to the top and popped, spilling steam and metal down the sides of the contraption. It was thickly hot, nothing like the cold Briggs north or the dry Ishvalan desert, the air somehow humid and clotting in his throat like blood. He fought to take a breath, heaving lightly on it and forcing himself to focus on anything else. It was then that he realized something.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ The pipes made a throne. Someone was sitting in it. Ehsaan slowly shifted his gaze from the interconnecting spirals of metal to the figure, tensing when he saw the man. Cold, blonde hair shrouded a seemingly serene face, and brittle golden eyes stared through Ehsaan as the stranger from his nightmares stood and stared.  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “It seems a ghost has introduced himself,” The man said, before everything turned white. 


	6. i've been waiting for the dark to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy scrubbed at his face with trembling hands, fingers twitching and cold against the nauseated flush of his face. His stomach rolled again and everything seemed to narrow down to him and the mistakes clinging to his neck.
> 
> It wasn't supposed to end up like this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who the new pov is from?

Everything was dark and black and  _ scary _ , iron in his mouth and pooling around his head. The world was gray and black and bloody red and there was someone at the edge of it, slumped near him and he couldn't move _ ,  _ he couldn't  _ couldn't breath he couldn't think where was he where was he where was he—  _

His dreams were damp and drippy in his skull and he didn't know if his brain was pouring out of his ears or if his heart was simply ripped open across his face. Something was screaming near him and it made his throat hurt and his head throb with his serrated chest's thump. He wanted to go  _ home _ but where was  _ home. _ He wasn't there— had he ever been there? 

He didn't know and it  _ hurt _ . There was someone talking in the corner but he didn't  _ care _ because he didn't know and he had to know. Pale fingers gripping his cheeks (did he have cheeks?) and moving his face (did he have a face?). An old man staring down at him with familiar eyes and red in his hands. Red like Ishval. 

Everything sounded like sand and blood and the old man wasn't home and he wanted to go home. More fingers gripped at his jaw and pried his mouth open and he choked on blood he didn't know was there, feeling it drip like his brain out of his ears and pool around him. It was thick and sticky— old and congealed.

The red was cold as an oil spill when it was forced onto his tongue and the noises around him stopped all at once. His throat wasn't hurting anymore (had he been the thing screaming all along?) He didn't know what it was but he wanted to. He wanted to go home but he didn't know what home was. 

He wanted to know. He needed to know, it would kill him if he didn't. It would starve a hole in his brain and consume him wholly—  _ he had to know, he had to know, he had to know _ .

The red tasted like blood and ambrosia when he was given a second one. It crunched against the roof of his mouth and he felt something in his ribs snap shut. 

He was so… hungry. 

*****

Everything after that happened in a daze, Riza barking at him to sit on the couch once he fully realized the severity of the situation and jolted out of bed. It felt like the blood had drained from his body and pooled onto the floor, the world shaking around him. 

Someone had been inside his home. Broken open the window and gotten inside while he was foolishly asleep, too weak to wake up from blood loss induced exhaustion. They could've  _ killed _ him, could've slit his throat and he never would've woken up to know. He had enough enemies to make it plausible. 

"Who," he started, resting his elbows on his knees and ignoring the pressure it put on his chest. "Better yet—  _ why _ would someone take that? What would anyone need a duffel bag full of…" he trailed off awkwardly. 

Riza pursed her lips when he didn't finish the sentence, stare almost accusatory. "Full of dead body parts." She firmly stated, voice unyielding even when Roy flinched. "Considering the serial killer roaming around, likely something heinous."

Roy blinked at her, tilting his head and resting his cheek on his clasped hands. "The serial killer? They're going after state alchemists, not—" he almost said investigators, but that was what Hughes was. Not the thing he had created. "Civilians," he weakly attempted instead. 

"Sir, an unseen assailant broke into your apartment and stole a bag that they likely knew was a biohazard.  _ You _ are a state alchemist, and they stole evidence of your alchemical taboo." 

Roy shuddered faintly, frowning. "How would they prove that I was the one who attempted it, then? It- It didn't survive," he tried to push back the bloody memories of sobbing gasps and broken ribs, "and there's no proof of me being involved beyond it being a duffel bag from my room. Anyone here could have one like that." 

Riza looked unimpressed. "Even an unfettered accusation would send soldiers investigating you, sir. You know that just as well as any of us do." 

Roy grimaced, nodding in acceptance and scrubbing shaky hands over his grainy eyes. His head was throbbing, a pulse behind his eyes and in his teeth. "Was there any sign of where they were headed?" He questioned, trying to ignore the sweat beginning to break along his brow. 

"Nothing beyond the window, sir." She sighed, rubbing a hand along her own face. "Whoever it was used the balcony on the other building, and likely headed into public traffic to make tracking them more difficult," she frowned at him, and he cracked an eye open to glance up at her. "It's a typical thing for most burglars." She finished, before switching topics. "Sir— when was the last time you ate?" 

"Hm?" He blinked, thoughts feeling like syrup. When did he get so lightheaded? "Haven't been able to keep anything down, throw it all back up." Roy grimaced, "Along with some blood, most of the time." 

Riza's frown deepened. "You need to eat something, you're shaking." She ignored his attempts at dismissing it, offering a broad arm to help him stand and corralling him back into his room. "Stay here. I'll be back with something light." 

"Riza— you really don't need to-"

"Forgive me, sir, but you obviously can't do it right now. I would rather you not faint at such a critical moment." Roy deflated at that, grimacing. He hated it when she was right. 

*****

"I think this one will be gluttony…" somewhere spoke above him, firm hands stroking through his hair and rubbing circles into his scalp. His mouth tasted like dried blood and broken bones, and as his eyes fluttered the voices quieted around him. His eyes were sore and swollen, and it felt like a weight was missing from his face as he stared up at the sight before him.

It took several moments of thick atmosphere for the world to begin to make sense, everything first seeming new and yet old at the same time. Thick iron criss crossed around the ceiling, a backdrop to a stranger staring down at him with familiar eyes. Where had he seen that color before? 

Molten gold and sparkling with some hidden joke, mirth evident, they were so familiar they sucked the breath from his chest and it took a moment for him to realize the man was speaking. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was the rasp of dehydration.

"Ah— hush, now. You're fine," the man waved a dismissive hand and he felt incredibly small and young all of a sudden. "I believe you did not hear me the first time, my child. I am your father." He had such a warm look in his eyes, but his voice was cold steel and the quiet threat of obedience.  _ You will obey me _ , he said with the air around him and the small smile gracing his face. "How do you feel, my son?" 

He worked his mouth for a moment, lips dry but somehow not cracking. "Where's R—" he began but stopped abruptly. That wasn't what he wanted to ask. Something seemed to bubble at the bottom of his spine. "Where am I?" He finally decided on, not sitting up but trailing his eyes hungrily across each detail he could find. 

"Already a glutton," the man murmured, seemingly amused. "Truly a part of me, wanting all the knowledge you can seek." Something about his voice shook him to the core, rattling his insides like stones and leaving him disjointed. "You are a part of me, do you understand?" A broad hand pressed down on his sternum, unyielding in its pressure. "Just as any child is a part of their parent. You will obey your father's instruction, like a good child. Like the rest of your siblings." Siblings?

"Indeed, you have a large family. I pray you get along with them." It felt like a threat coming from him, a proverbial knife to the throat. "Welcome home, Gluttony." 

*****

Roy glared down at the bowl, daring the thin broth inside it to make him nauseous. He didn't even want to eat it plain, had frankly begged for Riza to at least add noodles— but no, that was too much for his stomach. Roy felt like he would know the most about what he could handle, somewhat indignantly stirring the herbs floating on top before making a face and raising a spoonful to his mouth. 

The salty flavor was somehow refreshing compared to the plain tea that's been shoved down his throat, and he made a small noise as he was suddenly  _ ravenous.  _ It was almost painful, and he dismissed the spoon to fully lift the bowl up and sip directly from it. 

It didn't cross his mind that it might be in poor taste until he nearly choked, slamming a hand over his mouth and gagging as he swallowed it down. Roy was still starving but the broth sat in his stomach like a rock and he made a small noise of discomfort. Resting a palm against his abdomen did little but make it feel worse, and Roy fully groaned when he realized no amount of heat packs would save him. 

He decided to drink the rest of it at a later hour. Hopefully Riza wouldn't kill him. 

In the mean time he hoped his stomach wouldn't get to him first, and he shifted— swallowing compulsively as the nausea soared. What he wouldn't give for a glass of wine, though  _ morphine _ might've been more preferable. Another shift and he clenched his eyes closed, ignoring how they burned. 

Sleep had been futile, laying down only ending with him hunched over his toilet and Riza hovering for however long it took for him to lose everything he had eaten that day— literally. for whatever reason he wasn't digesting food anymore, something he found out the  _ hard _ way— and sleeping sitting up had him only dozing before a passing car jolted him awake. Riza didn't tell him, bless her soul, but he could tell he looked terrible. 

Just a glance in the mirror on the way back to his room had given him enough proof, Riza's hand and arm round his shoulder a stark contrast to the grey pallidness of his own skin. His eyes were sunken in and swollen, a new shallowness to his face that hadn't been there before. Roy barely recognized himself. 

Walking the distance, even supported, forced the breath out of his lungs and the added weight of the elephant in the room seemed to suck the air from him even faster. It was a silent thing, not spoken but painfully obvious. Someone had broken into his apartment— cracked the window open and took the duffel bag with hardly a glance at the rest of his rooms. A small hope burned that maybe it was just a run of the mill robbery— even though they had only taken the bag and nothing else. 

They hadn't looked through any of his stuff, hadn't even opened the doors to his bedroom— he knew that it didn't make sense but he wanted it too so badly. Roy just wanted everything to make sense again, even with a small voice in his head nurturing the fear that something had gone horribly wrong while he was unconscious. 

They wanted the duffel bag, only. That implied that they knew what was in the duffel bag, something that was concerning at the best and terrifying at the worst. Why would someone want a bag full of bone and broken body parts? The thing had been long dead, lungs flat and heart cold and pale in its gaping chest by the time Roy had come to. 

If it hadn't been dead then it certainly was by the time he had gotten it into the bag; it was a bitter thought. If anything different had happened  _ Roy  _ might've been the one shoved into a body bag. 

Roy scrubbed at his face with trembling hands, fingers twitching and cold against the nauseated flush of his face. His stomach rolled again and everything seemed to narrow down to him and the mistakes clinging to his neck.

It wasn't supposed to end up like this. 


	7. this temptation, like salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something was off. Something was wrong, and Al didn't like it. The look Mustang sent him only furthered that belief farther.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Al and Ed! Finally here! Mainly Al
> 
> Also dont @me Al isn't the uwu baby everyone makes him out to be he literally swears the most in the entire manga and is a better fighter than ed

Going back to work was a surreal experience, the world around Roy seeming darker than it used to be. The sky was cloudy and a dim grey, the sun a white orb that seemed to almost judge him. It was as if every pressure surrounding him was weighing his spine down, lower and lower. 

Everything was the same and yet different, a new change crawling under his skin and down his throat. 

Riza hovered— that was the most obvious change. It wasn't obvious at first, she simply lingered at the edges of his office with each bout of paperwork she brought. Nothing massive, but practical smothering from her. Roy could only pray that the rest of the grouping didn't notice. 

So far he had escaped unscathed, with only minimal ribbing from Jean about his current attempts at keeping his lunch down. Tentative sips of protein shakes and overly sweetened tea, whatever he could drink— no food. He learned the hard way that meats were out of the question. Vegetables, fruits… anything too chewy, anything heavy— he groaned faintly to himself as he took another sip of tea, the grains sticking to his teeth. 

It didn't help that he hated black tea. 

Roy rubbed a hand across his face, mussing his bangs and dropping his palm against his desk. The pen clattered, and he struggled to ignore the headache leaking through his skull as he read. It had lingered for hours, a dull ache that made him want to squint his eyes and turn the lights all off. He almost did, at one point, before remembering he was trying to  _ avoid _ questions, not open himself to them. 

Roy groaned again when he realized he still had plenty of work to push through, and reluctantly took another sip of his tea. He  _ really _ hated tea. 

*****

The first thing Al noticed was how searingly bright it was, almost overwhelming. The sun was vivid in the sky and he listened with some bemusement as his brother swore under his breath, shielding his eyes and glaring at the ground for a moment. 

After another moment Ed groaned, before casting Al a glance and rolling his eyes. "Ready to face the music?" 

Al sighed at the dramatic tone, "It really isn't that bad, brother. Just try not to get into any arguments." Ed's consistent bickering with the colonel might've been a spare glimpse of fresh entertainment, but it got tiring after so many meetings ending with Al having to carry Ed off. "Just report what you have toand ignore him if he says something dumb." 

"Easy for you to say! He doesn't insult your height or use that stupid  _ tone _ -" Ed trailed off, cutting through the traffic and continuing to grumble as he walked towards East headquarters. 

"There might be a reason for that, you know." He couldn't stop himself from pointing it out, eyeing the road beside them and people nearby. "Maybe if you two got along you could look forward to seeing everyone else in the office." 

"I mean— it's not like I don't look forward to seeing everyone else, just.." Ed floundered, gesturing through the air in leui of an actual explanation. 

"You just can't stand the Colonel?" 

"Yeah! Yeah," 

"Whatever you say, brother." Al would give anything to have eyes to roll in that moment, his brother's defense eroding. "Just don't burn HQ down, please?" 

"No promises," Ed groused, rubbing the back of his neck and idly kicking at a stone as they made their way to the tall stairs, headquarters looking over them in a way that made Al shiver inside. Something was wrong, his nerves rattling so intensely he could almost feel human again. 

"Hm- is that Hughes?" Al shook his head faintly, though it did little. Ed was staring off at something, balancing on his tiptoes. "I can't tell from here, he's too far away." 

Al glanced in the distance, "Oh— it sorta looks like him, doesn't it?" It truly did, though something about him was  _ off.  _ The same dark, ragged hair, but he was missing the glasses. "He's out of uniform on a work day, huh?" Al had never seen Hughes out of a blazer, let alone in the dark pants and heavy jacket he had donned. "Weird."

*****

Roy gave in, needless to say. He eventually had to pull the curtains in the office back, the air too cold and the sun too bright. His head was an itchy mass of pain, scalp crawling and pressure crushing his teeth. 

Riza hadn't walked in for some time, an awkward stretch that spread on and on until Roy was certain that years had passed in one day. A protein shake sat untouched on his desk, and he fought back the urge to gag when he even considered drinking it. It was hellish. 

His breathing was too loud, and the growl of car engines house stories below ripped into his ears. Hell, his  _ heartbeat  _ was too loud— Roy held his breath, lungs straining, before letting it out in a flood and squeezing his eyes shit. 

Maes' own bright green eyes stared back at him and he jerked, snapping up and glancing around before pressing the heel of his palms into his forehead. "I can't keep going like this," he muttered to himself, feeling sickly. "I have to figure out how to  _ eat _ —"

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by the crash of a door slamming open, a loud voice introducing himself with the gusto he always carried. "Hey! I'm here for my report, Musta— where is he?" 

Roy fought off the urge to groan, having forgotten Ed was scheduled to arrive sometime this week with a report. He had arrived back from even farther east, hunting down a strange mine Roy himself had hinted at. He supposed he had made his own bed with that one. Time to lie in it. 

*****

The colonel was acting strange. It was the first thing Al noticed when they walked into his office. The blinds were drawn— something not unusual typically, if not for Roy's pallid complexion and the grey cast to his skin. He had lost weight, too. His face was the smallest bit sharper, something his brother seemed to miss.

If Al was honest with himself, he looked like he hadn't been eating.

"Christ, Mustang. You look like shit," At least he didn't have to say it outloud. He stifled a laugh at the exasperated look sent his brother's way, the colonel rolling his eyes and sitting up fully in his desk. Al's laughter died when he saw the bags under the man's eyes. Had he not been sleeping, either? 

"Thanks, Fullmetal." The colonel's voice was even raspy, though he spoke firmly. "Now, unlike you, I have things to  _ do _ . What do you have for me?" Ed seemed faintly surprised, raising a brow. 

"You must feel like crap too, huh?" A shrug, he fidgeted with the cloth of his right sleeve. "Whatever— another dead end. You damn well knew that, too, but I'll let it slide until you feel good enough for me to yell. Just know the asshole there isn't in charge anymore."

" _ Right _ ," Al could practically see the sarcasm seeping off of the colonel's words. "Thank you  _ so much _ for that report. If that's all, then you can ask Lieutenant Hawkeye for your next assignment."

Al finally interjected, "I thought you gave them to us, Colonel? You mentioned before that they were secret." Something was off. Something was wrong, and Al didn't like it. The look Mustang sent him only furthered that belief farther. 

"Like I said, I'm swamped today. Hawkeye is just as trustworthy as I am." He dismissed them with a small wave, turning to face down his paperwork before Ed snorted.

"Whatever. Have you seen Hughes, too? I wanted to talk to him about something." Roy seemed to  _ pale _ , the blood draining his face even grayer than before. Al couldn't stop staring, it felt like he was watching a trainwreck, unable to turn away. 

"He... moved away, sorry to say." Roy coughed, continuing to stare down at his paperwork. "Decided to take over the family business." 

"What— but didn't we just see him outside?" Ed glanced at Al, who could only stare helplessly. Something was  _ wrong,  _ something was  _ evil _ , and Roy was hiding something. He couldn't even  _ look _ at them. 

"Yeah, brother. He was out of uniform though, maybe they just looked like Hughes?" 

"Maybe…" Ed looked doubtful for a minute, before shaking his head. "Why're you drinking those, anyway? Hawkeye finally put you on a diet?" It was a jab, but Mustang seemed to veer away from it instead of rise to it. 

"Uh— no, just… like the way they taste." He was still staring at his paperwork. 

"... Right. Sure." The atmosphere was thick and awkward, and Ed sighed before moving to leave. "Guess we better get that mission from the lieutenant. come on, Al." 

Al stooped over as Ed turned, careful not to hit anything as he maneuvered through the room to follow his brother. "Er— Have a good day, Colonel." He managed before closing the door. 

Once they were in the main room, Ed rolled his shoulders; Al could hear the click and grind of gears, a mimicry of bone and sinew. "He was acting strange, wasn't he, brother?" Al broke gently, voice hushed. 

"A little, yeah... wonder why Hughes up and left, too. Did he get discharged, or something?" Ed perked up when he saw Hawkeye walking over, "I can just ask!" 

She seemed just as distracted as the colonel, paperwork in hand and a crease between her brows that aged her. "Hello, boys. I take it he sent you to me?" 

"Yeah, hey." Ed shrugged, eyeing the formidable stack of paper. "Whatever, though. I gotta ask— how come Hughes moved? Did something make him leave, or-?" He trailed off when he saw the way her face constricted, and Al could hear the silence of the room suddenly ring out. 

Something was  _ wrong, wrong, wrong.  _

"... I see." Hawkeye's voice had quieted, and Al could feel stares biting through the steel of his facade body. She sighed, closed her eyes shut, and took a shuddering breath. It was the most off guard Al had ever seen her. "Maes Hughes was murdered by an unknown assailant two weeks prior, Fullmetal." 

Everything was too quiet. 

"What— what do you mean?" He could faintly hear his brother's voice, underwater and washed out. "Mustang said— he said he just moved, he wouldn't lie about that? He  _ couldn't  _ lie about that, right?" A gold head whipped around to stare at the other people in the office, molten metal eyes searching for anything. " _ Right?"  _

Downcast faces were his answer. 

"Why would— I don't understand." Ed's voice was thick. Al stared at the crease between Hawkeye's brow and tried to keep on his feet. It was a hollow ache where his soul should've been, an absence of pain that starved him for it more. He would never see him smile again— he would never hear him laugh again— he would never,  _ never, never, never _ . 

He would never see Al again. Flesh and bone Al. All he would know was a mockery of humanity, metal forged to cage a body, metal caging a soul. 

"Let me go!" Al snapped to when he heard Ed shout again, turning his head with a creak of metal. Hawkeye had a firm grasp on his brother's collar, holding him still as he struggled to dart back to the Colonel's office. Al stood still as she dragged him towards Havoc, who had stood up at some point through it all. 

They weren't paying attention to him at all. Of course they weren't, did they ever?

He wanted to move— his own gears creaking with faked age. Wanted to hold his brother and promise him it would be okay. He could hear Ed crying now, but his boots were rooted to the ground. Wanted to swear they would talk to Roy together, hold him close and hug him with arms that were warm instead of cold. 

Al wanted a lot of things. 

He stood silent for a moment longer, as quietly as he could, before moving back towards the colonel's office. Everyone was turned away, attempting to calm Edward. No one noticed the door open, or if they did, they said nothing about it. 

******

Roy could hear shouting through the haze he had settled in, and closed his eyes in defeat. The lie burnt like fire on his tongue and he knew Riza wouldn't have stood for it— obviously displayed by the angry shouting and stone silence that had enveloped their office space. 

It faded into nothingness for a moment, until the creak of heavy oak reverberated and he opened his eyes. Metal fingers peeled the door open, gently closing it with feigned delicacy, before Alphonse turned to stare at him. 

"What do you need, Alphonse?" He asked, suddenly, unfairly exhausted. The suit standing stiff said nothing, the only sign of consciousness the unnerving glow of a soul behind the eye guard. "Alphonse?" 

"I saw Hughes earlier,  _ sir. _ " His tone was sharper than Roy had ever heard it, something bitter. Something furious. "Don't tell me I didn't, either. I'm not an idiot." A step closer. "Dark clothes, the same face. Just like Bradley's assistant." What? Roy blinked in confusion. 

"Alphonse, what are you  _ talking  _ about?" 

"You lied to pretend that Hughes wasn't dead. We find out he is, but I saw him not even twenty minutes ago." 

"Okay, like I  _ said, _ anyone could look like—"

"Shut up." Al snapped at him, placing his guarded hands on the dark wood of Roy's desk. Something was looking behind him. He could feel his sins along his spine. "You're suddenly  _ sick.  _ Hughes was dead, but now apparently  _ isn't.  _ You-" a leather finger pointed at him, "-look dead."

"What are you getting at?" Roy was dizzy with it, red eyes staring into his own soul. Alphonse knew everything he wasn't supposed to, had figured  _ something _ out in less time than Roy himself had. Knew things he still didn't know.  _ How? _

"You know what I'm getting at, colonel. Did you do it?" The question rang out like a curse. "Did you commit the taboo?" 


	8. give me back my heart, you wingless thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphonse had been too young, too clever, Ed and him both had burnt out like stars, imploding in their own loneliness. the suffocating walls of their home were too small too fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We gettin into the THICK of it finally

Roy's voice caught in his throat, and he choked on the sound of it all. The question was a tempo in his stomach that throbbed, throbbed, throbbed. "I don't know what you're talking about, Alphonse." He swallowed the pulse down with the rest of his bile and forced a disbelieving grin on his face. "Why would I do something like that?" 

"Because you can't live without him." He said it so plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It hung in the air like glass dust. 

"And what makes you think that?"

"Don't play me for a fool, Colonel," Al snapped, crossing his arms with a hollow noise. "I did the exact same thing, in case you somehow forgot." 

Roy had fallen silent, the shell before him stark against the military-clean of his office.

"I–" He started, stopped, then tried to start again. "Fine. Fine, I did. I committed the taboo. Happy now?" His voice had a main energy it didn't before, and he rubbed a harsh hand down the side of his face as he stared anywhere but towards Alphonse. His neatly stitched plan was being ripped at the seams. 

Roy still had no idea how he  _ knew,  _ where he had grabbed the straws from that quickly. Al was a silent form across from him, inhumanely still.

Roy forgot so often what Al's toll was. He moved, spoke, was just as animated as any other person; his voice was so  _ young _ , but he blended into his cage so easily it was like he was really inside it. The payment was ever so apparent then, though. An empty suit of armor. A stroke of luck on Edward's part. They were both emptied out inside. He tried not to shiver, what if that had happened to him? No one would ever realize where he had gone, where he really was. 

Al's voice suddenly cracked like a whip in the silence of the room, "How  _ could _ you?" If he had muscle Roy wondered if he'd be shaking. "You saw what happened to us— you were  _ there _ ! You knew what we did to ourselves, how could you do the same?" 

Roy shook his head, pressing weak fingers to the bridge of his nose. The papers on his desk swam dizzyingly. "I- I had to. I had to try." 

"No you didn't," Al's voice was desperate, now. "You knew it wouldn't work. You just made something terrible." 

Confusion blurred the lines even further. Al had mentioned that a moment ago as well. "I don't know what to tell you, Alphonse. I had to try, I couldn't live without at least an attempt." It was the bitter truth, something he hated himself for. 

The boy had fallen silent across from him, cracked leather hands still on the oak of his old desk. Hollow. "Did you even think it would work?" Al questioned, voice barely an echo. 

His voice was a hollow requiem to his own ears. "No. No, not even for a moment." 

*****

He felt for Mustang and it made him curse his own compassion. The defeated look on his face cut like a knife; he was always so mockingly collected, to see him brought to his knees in defeat brought no happiness. 

The worst part was he understood it, in some stunted way. Obviously not the same, never the same; Alphonse had been too young, too clever, Ed and him both had burnt out like stars, imploding in their own loneliness. The suffocating walls of their home were too small too fast.

The part he couldn't wrap himself around was how Mustang had allowed himself to stoop to such a level. Risk his life, his job, his  _ body _ , for one man? It ached in a place he couldn't find, some remnant of his chest that strayed back to his soul. He felt heavy. "Let some light in, sulking in the dark isn't helping anyone." Al finally said, glacing at the deep shadows of the room in distaste.

Roy shook his head, hands still pressed to his face for yet a moment before he nodded. The darkness in the room did little to aid his complexion, the swollen bags under his eyes all the more obvious. Something about him was gaunt, starving in a quiet way. If Al had a body, maybe he would have shivered.

As Mustang stood to pull back the curtains, Al's attention was drawn to the heavy way his clothes sat. They were sagging, loose around the waist and arms, and he felt something like concern bite into him. 

He just couldn't  _ understand _ . 

How could someone see them, see the helpless look in his brother's eyes, the blood sodden bandages and the tear stained face; see  _ him _ , and then turn around and do the same thing. The same mistake with the same consequences, just as they were the same before and would always be the same. 

You played god and you always regretted it. That was the one rule any alchemist could tell you. 

*****

Ed stared at his hands, the pulse of his heart a steady tempo throbbing in his shoulder and leg. It felt like he was drowning, the weight of everything around him a mass that shifted with every breath he took. There was anger somewhere inside as well; a burning thing that came to life with each breath he took. 

Maes Hughes was dead. 

Maes Hughes was dead and his killer was alive somewhere, and Roy Mustang lied to them about it, and Riza Hawkeye told them the truth. Maes Hughes was dead and buried and gone and there was nothing he could do to turn back time and stop it. 

He was dead and Ed didn't even attend his funeral. He was dead and now his daughter didn't have a father anymore and his wife was missing a husband. He was  _ dead. _ Ed would never see him again, Al would never see him again; the looming thought that Elicia might forget him crushed something down in Ed's throat and he tried not to choke on the taste of it. 

Mustang had  _ lied _ to their face. Smiled with big, gray bags under his eyes and spat at them with colorful thoughts about a farm somewhere in the west. The rage inside him boiled up again and he fought off the urge to snarl. 

He had lied and Ed had believed it. 

Hawkeye was talking somewhere to his left and he was sitting on something plush. There was a weight— small, a hand— on his right arm and he swore he could feel the heat of it in that moment. The flesh and bone feeling of something real. He wasn't crying but his face was flushed and it made him grind his teeth. 

He didn't want to move. He couldn't move.

The thought of seeing Elicia made the tears he held back turn to bile, and he swallowed it down with disgust at himself. He was the reason Hughes was dragged into this chase. He was the reason another child lost a parent. He was the reason another child might feel like Al and him felt. 

Ed had no idea how long he sat there, elbows to his knees, false joints aching in a phantom pain that was all too real and head throbbing with tears he hadn't shed. 

"I'm— I'm leaving." His voice was thick and deepened with emotion, and Ed resisted the urge to press his palm to his chest. "We turned in our report, I'm ready to go." The look Hawkeye cast him was a sad one, something gentle in a way that made Ed want to circle up and scream. She nodded anyway. 

"I'll fetch your brother. He went back to Colonel Mustang's office." 

A piece of Edward melted with the realization that he had scarcely noticed Al wasn't besides him. The awareness of it was like a gaping wound once his attention was drawn back. 

*****

The curtains were a deep blue, and as Roy forced them back he stifled the frown that spread across his face. His shoulders were aching from practically nothing. 

Light trickled in slowly, a glaze of it passing through the thick glass and lighting up the room. The sky was a pleasant blue. Roy scarcely noticed any of that, though, too caught up in something  _ new _ .

There were wide, red eyes beaming through the glass, zeroed in on Roy with an inherent, strange violence. Roy could hear Al gasp behind him, and yet he was slowly being submerged all at once. Red eyes led to dark hair and dark hair led to pale skin— almost gray, was he alive? He couldn't be alive— to a bone structure Roy had painted over in his dreams. 

"Maes?" 

The copy was staring at him as if in a daze, eyes huge and unblinking and unnaturally bright. It was only when Roy moved forward did the tension snap, and the man jolted back— before dropping down and seeming to disappear. 

Roy was left staring at nothing, feeling as if he had walked onto a crime scene— his own crime scene. Al was a statue behind him, stiff as the metal he was made of and eyes faded to dim embers. 

He was nauseous again. 

"Who was that," Roy asked, already knowing the answer. Saliva was thick in his mouth and fought back the urge to curl. "Who was that?" His voice was frantic. 

"Who do you think it was," There was an edge to Al's voice that made Roy's shoulders bunch. "Who else could it be? I mentioned him earlier. I  _ knew _ it." There was a finality to it. 

"Knew what, exactly. That somehow human transmutation was successful?" His voice was breathy and faint, and the admittance of what he had done burnt like poison on his tongue. "Because as far as I remember, it was quite the opposite." 

"You're not listening, Colonel—"

"Listening to  _ what _ , pray tell? I really doubt I hallucinated what I saw when I did it. That can't be him." 

"This is what I was trying to say!" Al's hands were against the plates of his face now, hard leather scraping down metal with a shrill noise. "Bradley's assistant looks just like our mom, Izumi's son is Wrath's age— now  _ Hughes _ looks just like the rest of them!" 

Roy stared at him with unrestrained bafflement, "What are you  _ talking  _ about?" 

Al groaned into his gloves, before near shouting. "The homunculi are made from human transmutation! What are you not getting?" 

"Literally everything you just said?" Roy snapped, raising a hand to his hair and resisting the urge to tug at it. "You're making leaps here that don't make sense, slow  _ down _ ." 

"I can't slow down! Hughes is— is  _ not  _ Hughes, and my own mother is walking around! Something isn't right here." He waved a palm at the empty air, frantic. "Don't you find it  _ strange _ how people we tried to bring back  _ are _ back, but aren't themselves?" There was a waver to Al's voice and Roy tried not to wince. He doubted either of the brothers would ever heal from their first transgression. 

"Alphonse—"

"Don't try to tell me otherwise, Colonel! I think I'd know more about this type of alchemy than you, about these  _ people _ ," his voice was a hiss, hands still twitching. "We both did something unforgivable, and now potentially worse people are walking around." 

"But  _ how? _ " He was scrambling for something to make sense, but the cracks Alphonse had started with were slowly starting to fill in. "Do you really think they came from—" he stopped, swallowing down acid at the memory of a bloated body and too alive eyes. "From those things?" 

"Where else would they have come from?" Al stared up at the ceiling. "We won't really know until there's an ouroboros tattoo, but red eyes, black hair, red markings? They're the same descriptors the people who—"

"The people who killed Maes have." What had he done? He had said it like a prayer, over and over again: it wasn't supposed to be like this. 

They were all supposed to be  _ happy. _

Al never got to respond, the door creaking on its hinges making them both jump to alertness— on edge for a fight that would never come, the imposter long since gone. A blonde head of hair appeared from behind the oak, and Riza walked in with a controlled expression on her face. "Alphonse, your brother is asking for you. He says he's ready to go." 

Roy forced on a smile, watching as Al nodded and drug himself towards both the door and the outside world. "Keep safe." He said, quiet like; Al didn't show that he heard, merely widening the door as Riza stepped all the way into Roy's office and leaving without a word. 

Roy wandered what the semantics of haunting were; Al was as silent as a ghost. 


	9. i've been a hero, helpless; i'm in hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They never fought, never legitimately, at least. The last actual argument they had gotten into was at least two years ago, and over something inconsequential now. It left Ehsaan feeling unbalanced— not knowing if he could talk to his brother or not. The other had practically raised him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm climax is Soon

_ Drip. Drip. Drip. _

_ Something was leaking from the walls, oozing down the stone and leaving dark trails behind. He could taste metal in his mouth. Someone was watching him. Something was watching him. He felt too small for his body. _

_ Red eyes followed his breathing, glaring through him, breath silently hissing. He could just make out long, sharp talons lightly scraping down, down, down. They were bigger than his head and something in his chest shivered in fear.  _

_ Heels clacked against the stone floor. Marble, it was cold against his bare feet. Something warm and wet pooled around them.  _

_ An ashen face. Dark, long hair. She looked just like Ayda.  _

Ehsaan woke up harshly, blinking his eyes at the ceiling and feeling the sweat cool down on his body. He shivered, a chill seeping into his bones that he hadn't felt in months. An ache in his shoulder, a pounding in his head. He swallowed roughly and felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. 

He shifted, wincing as the pain ricocheted, before forcing himself to sit up. He ignored the cracking complaint of his shoulders, choosing instead to look around the room and take a deep breath. 

The window was covered, the door shut; his books still sat on his rickety desk and his clothes were still hung up in the closet. The floor wasn't marble, just plain wood. Nothing had happened.  _ No one had been there.  _

No one was there.

Ehsaan shoved down the lingering paranoia of eyes boring through him, scrubbing his face with one palm— he paused and looked at it. He had been crying in his sleep, tears streaked across his fingers and now that he knew he could feel the salt stiff on his cheeks as well. 

He stood with trepidation, knees weak as he rolled his shoulder in an attempt to loosen the overly tight muscle. It hurt, something aching and dull in the muscle and bone.  _ He  _ hurt. 

Walking near the kitchen took a war of will, and as he paused just in the hallway he tried not to curse— his brother was awake. He didn't… he didn't know what he didn't want to do. It was a muddle of anxiety in his mind and just thinking of his brother sent a spear of grief through his chest. 

Aadil, whose own grief nearly killed him. What right did Ehsaan have to mourn someone he scarcely knew? His sister-in-law was like a fire; Aadil had met her and they fell hard, and then she was gone just as fast. A burn out, a sickness looming inside of her that no one knew about until it was too late. His head hurt. 

"Hey— you alright?" Ehsaan snapped alert when he heard his brother's voice, blinking before he remembered where he was; standing in the hallway. 

"Hm? I'm... okay." He waved a hand, before heading for the coffee maker and doing his best to avoid the sudden tension in the room. It was surely all in his head; his brother was no mind reader, and his nerves were still on edge from the dream. He cursed when he dropped a spoon, before realizing his hands were shaking. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Aadil sounded faintly worried now, and Ehsaan tried to smother the guilt stuck in his throat with a swallow. 

"Fine, fine. Just— tired, is all. Didn't sleep well." Another attempt, and he managed to finally brew himself a cup of coffee. It was black and he was tempted to drink it straight, something to snap him out of this— whatever this was. Another split second and he decided against that impulse, adding creamer and sugar in. He  _ hated _ black coffee. 

Ehsaan moved to sit down with a small sigh, staring down at the warm mug in his hands and wishing futilely for things he couldn't have. He missed Ayda. He drummed his fingers against the sides of the porcelain, the clack of his fingernails against the mug loud in the quiet room. Aadil raised a brow, concern rising along with his disbelief at Ehsaan's insistences. 

"Maybe you should drink some water, instead. Your face is swollen." His brother's voice was gentle, and Ehsaan grit his teeth and stared down at the table.

"I'm fine." 

"You're not." 

  


*****

The blizzards had been awful, vicious things that howled against the few trees growing near Briggs and bending them to its will. An angry sort of weather; Miles was quiet about it but the worry for his family lingered in his throat and on his tongue. Just there, barely present enough to make the cold that much more biting. 

The sun was a thing practically forgotten at this point, clouds obscuring it and so heavily layered it was like the sky itself had been replaced. His thick furs and sweaters were thankfully enough to manage, but Miles still didn't look forward to the regular treks he had to make across the wall. 

At least his glasses kept his sight clear. 

Going back to his room was quickly becoming the highlight of each day, beyond managing to escape for a few hours every weekend to manage a visit to Ehsaan and that strange brother of his. Something was off about Aadil, a small murmur in Miles' gut that made him just aware enough to be on edge when certain topics were broached. 

They got along fine, Aadil seemed to like him as well as an older brother could, at least. Maybe he was a little protective at times, but who could really blame him? Ehsaan was all he had left. 

And yet— there was a glint in his eye, a spark that burst into flames whenever alchemy came into the question. He hid it well around his brother, though Miles knew better than many that Ehsaan wasn't so easily fooled. Aadil knew something, had done something involving alchemy; something he had to keep under wraps and away from everyone. 

Miles really hoped it wasn't what he thought. 

He shivered faintly, hunching his shoulders as he neared his room. The only perk of working directly under Olivier might've been the personal rooms instead of draft barracks. The coffee just tasted terrible no matter how high up you were. 

At least he was off duty for the day.

He could feel his shoulders drooping the closer he got to his room, and sighed to himself as the hallways gradually emptied out. The scientists had been working overtime to figure out why the weather had hit so hard and so fast, but as of today they were still empty handed. 

It all flew over his head, and he was reaching the point where he was tempted to phone in and see if Aadil could pull some sort of magic out of his ass. Alchemy was nothing but a jumble of math and bad decisions, in his personal opinion. Though at this point he'd be willing to try even it. Anything to make Olivier's blood pressure drop. 

The woman had been demonic the past few days— her already short temper frayed beyond reason. She practically radiated annoyance, and Miles feared for whatever new soul screwed up while she was this high strung. It all looped back, strangely enough: the weather, the oddly coincidental way food storages began to disappear, people mentioning footprints in the snow and strange, serrated claw marks. 

No one was strong enough to survive this sort of weather; and yet something was. 

Miles shook his head, reaching for his keys to unlock the door he had stopped in front of. It creaked angrily on its hinges, a precarious noise as it swung open and he walked in. He made sure to lock it behind him before groaning and moving to rip the ribbon holding his braids out of his face down. They fell around his face heavily, and Miles mindlessly shoved one behind his ear.

He sat on his bed with a relieved sigh, flopping back and staring up at the ceiling as he forced himself to relax. His room was simple, and neat. A blanket his grandfather had given him— the designs looping and a stark white against the blue of it. A few spare pictures he found frames for: his grandmother, one of his father, one of Ehsaan. 

Nothing much at all. It was enough and that was all that really mattered.

The major stretched out, his back popping before he crawled back out of bed to peel each layer off. His eyes were burning. 

  


*

Miles woke up sluggishly, shivering under his blankets and bleakly rubbing a hand across his face. His fingers were stiff, and cracked in protest when he bent them. He must've kicked the heavier quilts off in his sleep. He sat up reluctantly, his teeth beginning to chatter as the air hit his bare shoulders. 

He couldn't understand how it had dropped  _ so _ fast; normally they had at least a day's warning for blizzards of this size. Miles grumbled to himself, moving to reach down and grab a thick quilt before pausing—

There was someone staring at him. 

There was some _ thing _ staring at him. Eyes redder than his own, glowing an ominous pink in the dark grey and white of the night time snow. Miles felt almost paralyzed, a hand falling to his mattress to shift for the gun under his pillow. 

The thing blinked, and dark strands of hair fell across its face before long nails waved cheekily. Something in him shuddered, and as he closed his hand round the shaft of his pistol the thing seemingly vanished. 

He was left as alone as he had started, sitting up and nearly shaking in an empty room; holding a gun that was once again useless. 

His breathing was heavy and loud in the ringing silence. 

  


*****

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ehsaan blinked up from where he had been poking food around, blinking at the concern etched into his brother's face. 

"I'm fine." He pursed his lips, shoving a piece of flatbread into his mouth in an attempt to avoid any further questions. It did little to deter Aadil, who simply chose to ignore his terse answers. 

“I really don’t believe that, sorry.” Ehsaan could only shrug, and the older man rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Can you at least talk to someone, if you don’t want to talk to me? You’re worrying me a little bit, Ehsaan.”

He felt himself deflate a bit, guilt tugging at him like an old friend. “I might call Miles later, when he gets off. I really am okay, though.” He futilely poked at his food, trying to will himself to eat. “Just some nightmares.” Ehsaan’s voice sounded fake even to himself, and he prayed in futility until his brother spoke again. 

“You don’t sound so sure.” 

He gnawed at the inside of his lip. “Just don’t know how to explain it.”

“You  _ sure  _ you don’t want to talk to me?”

Irritation reared its ugly head in Ehsaan’s chest and he tried to swallow it down to no avail. “Yes, Aadil. I’m fairly confident I don’t want to talk about something like this with you.”

“Something like this?” Aadil echoed, and Ehsaan groaned internally. “Are you having nightmares about… the war, again?”

Ehsaan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying not to flinch when his thumb hit scar tissue. “No, no- not that. It’s just, I-”  _ Can’t stand to remember her like that. Haven’t forgotten how sick you got too. Almost lost the both of you instead of just one. Remember coughed up blood and roping scars.  _ “It’s something you don’t need right now. I know you still miss her-” He froze, blood turning to ice. Aadil was silent across from him. 

The silence stretched on for hours within the minutes, and Ehsaan winced when his brother finally spoke. “You… had a nightmare about Ayda.” It wasn’t a question. His brother’s voice was raw, and it stung. This was the first time they had spoken about her since her death.

“Yes,” he scrubbed at the buzzed hair on the nape of his neck, averting his gaze and staring down the grain of the floorboards. 

“ _ Why? _ ” 

He snorted, “If I knew I’d tell you. I didn’t exactly enjoy the experience.” Aadil opened his mouth to say something, before seeming to think better of it and sighing heavily. Ehsaan continued. “It wasn’t really.. her, either way.”   
  
Aadil tensed, “What do you mean?”   


The words caught in Ehsaan’s throat for a moment, the secret hanging in between them suddenly all the more tangible. “She looked like one of those people you told me about. A homunculus.”

“What are you getting at, little brother.” his tone was flat.

“I just- I’m not a fool, Aadil. You know that.” Aadil tilted his head, caught off guard. “I don’t know why we keep pretending you didn’t-”

“Don’t say it.” Ehsaan paused, the words in his mouth.  _ Human transmutation. _ “This isn’t something you need to worry about, anyway. Ayda is dead,” he paused, jaw ticking. “She isn’t coming back no matter what I might’ve done, or what you’re dreaming about.   
  
“But-”

“Why don’t you go lay down, Ehsaan. You’ve had a long day.” He sounded no sterner than usual but the child in Ehsaan still winced; every time he had gotten in trouble through the years suddenly apparent. 

Ehsaan slunked to his room like a kicked dog, shoulders hunched and a hand firm on the throbbing mass of his right bicep. Aadil stayed at the kitchen table, as far as he could tell. It made him feel worse than if he had left for his own room. His own door was a welcome reprieve to the looming thoughts in his mind.

The house was too quiet after their “discussion,” and he couldn’t do anything to change it beyond staring at the ceiling and choking on the silence. He had tried to read, but could only manage a paragraph before he caught himself scanning the same sentence over and over again. It happened every time they fought, and this was no different. Hell, he was still confused as to if they actually fought or not. Maybe he was just overdefensive. 

They never fought, never legitimately, at least. The last actual argument they had gotten into was at least two years ago, and over something inconsequential now. It left Ehsaan feeling unbalanced— not knowing if he could talk to his brother or not. The other had practically raised him.

Ehsaan shivered, curling up and frowning to himself as the wind howled outside. It was almost alive with it, a wrathful animal hellbent on consuming them all in a suffocating white. The cold trickled down to his very bones, and he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to get some sleep. It was still long coming, but pretending made him feel somewhat better about it. 

_ It was dark; it was cold and clammy and the sand stuck to his face and serrated his eyes. Someone familiar was speaking in tongues he could not understand. There were— noises. _

_ The give of flesh. The clang of a silver platter. The sound of sodium and potassium scraping against each other. Gurgling.  _

_ His brother was crying somewhere— Aadil was always crying, now. Ayda was gone and she took him with her. There was blue light on the walls and something wet pooling on his feet again. Something was screaming.  _

_ Aadil had promised he wouldn't do it.  _


End file.
